Writing, for me, is a form of praying. I often think of John 1:1: In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. In my office drawer is a folder filled with cards from people who have walked alongside me for a season. I can open any of [Read More...]

She sat in the pastor’s office, a blubbering heap. I just don’t know what we will do now, she cried. Pastor wasn’t quite sure what had prompted this woman’s breakdown. Was a family member sick? Were there marriage problems? Had a child gone prodigal? Gently, he inquired, What’s the matter? Clinton won the election! [Read More...]

Irony is the long-shadow of death. It is early morning yet. I have just administered my mother’s drugs. Something to slow the system. Something to move the system. A child of Appalachia, Mama spent sixty years sucking on the unlit end of a tobacco stick. Now she draws her breath from a gadget that resembles [Read More...]